


as the wall did crumble and fall

by racoongal



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:26:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racoongal/pseuds/racoongal
Summary: *spoilers for 8.01 and 8.02*a little window into their last night(and a good bye because i KNOW someone is gonna die next ep i can fuckin feel it)((the hound x oc is shameless self insert im sorry about it skip it if u like)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter is missandei/grey worm.  
> sorry its short as hell lmao! stay tuned 4 updates ill add more bit by bit, a girl is busy as fuck!

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts_

_The ones she had lost, and the ones she had found,_

_The ones who had loved her the most._

 

The cold was new to them, and almost as calloused as the stony eyes and walls of the Northmen. Missandei walks the courtyard, dense with soldiers and steam, and feels her frozen hands and frozen heart weigh her down. The Unsullied are beginning to leave the barracks and take to their post around the north gate. She was supposed to join the others in the crypt a short while ago but left to find him. The darkness of night feels thick, but the biting cold air is thin. 

She finally sees him preparing across the yard, and the lean planes of his southern armor look starkly out of place next to the fur and leather. At another time- in another life, she might have laughed. She joins him and Greyworm, while outwardly as stoic as always, radiates relief at her presence. 

But when she tries to speak, the words escape her. Her words, which for so long have been her only strength, cannot be found. For in all nineteen of the languages she knows, there are no words to describe this. 

So she says nothing aloud, yet he hears her all the same. She stays as the final barriers are set and the last of the men march away. And as he leaves, tucking sword into scabbard and helm under arm: he kisses her soundly, the only heat warm enough to melt the desolation. And she kisses him desperately, the only heat hot enough to burn in her anguish.   

And it tastes so surely of farewell. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arya/gendry  
> *trigger warning: lowkey porn in dis nothing graphic but*

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long,_

_She couldn't remember their names._

_They spun her around on the damp old stones,_

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain._

 

It is hard for Gendry to see the little girl he once knew in this Arya. She is still there, in the flashes of her eyes when the steel grey turns warm _,_ but there is a new girl as well. He'd known that she was strong and able, but the knife display clarified that he didn't know enough. The child is dead, but in her place stands a warrior; and Gendry finds that he loves them both. He crafts the weapon in her image, to have balance between grace and strength. He pours the dragonglass and his prayers to the gods, old and new, into the mould. 

So when she comes to him in the forge, on the eve of eternal night, it is as if receiving an old friend and meeting a beautiful stranger all at once. 

  
"Was she your first? The Red Woman," Arya asks without supposition or hesitancy. The question shocks him almost as much as her confidence. Gendry had been lightly aware of their flirtation, but never expected such directness. When she continues her inquiry, he grows increasingly bashful. And finally, when she portrays her intention- loudly and clearly, he is breathless. All he manages is to gasp her name before they are kissing. 

She is forceful- filled with intent, and Gendry has always been willing to follow her. The kiss is passionate and fiery, the summation of time spent apart and time they do not have. Arya is abrupt in shoving him the floor, announcing," Take your own bloody pants off". 

But his movement and gaze is suddenly stunned still. Her body is beautiful, and a testament to all that he does not know. The scars are large and serrated, purple against the pale white of her ribs. When she moves to straddle him, he stops her with a gentle hand to the sternum. Flipping them, to press her down into the stone of the forge, he kisses her slowly. Her face, neck, chest, scars and lower are kissed languidly and in adoration. 

They are sure to take their time; their time which has run out. And as they seek life within one another, death knocks silently at the chamber door. 


End file.
